© Gloria Smith 2010
Angels wings rustle through the sound of the trees
As they bend in the wind; a storm is coming
A Dove coos softly in the sighs of my heart
And the puddles on the ground reflect the tears in my eyes
A storm is coming
Confusion clouds my mind like sugar spun cotton candy thrown into the air
Multi-colored thoughts strewn everywhere for the birds to gather
For the Angels to share
A storm is here
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